She's in labor,
You can tell.
This dream is set free by death
Because only through death can there be definition,
A terminus.

Pangs of fear,
Not work not hapless
But somewhere in between
Where they lay in the experience.

You can tell you're about to be born,
That it's on the other side
That it fills itself and spills and repeats like a swiveling bucket

That good enough for eternity is a terrible thing to be.

Love is real love is real love is real

You have a digestive quality
You move through time
Like a worm
Eating itself

Do I mean that?
Are you me?
Did i give myself layers I have yet to attain?

I hate you for not loving me the way I love myself

I hate you for that

I hate you

No.

I will not craft beautiful language about daisies and daffodils
Weaving abstract and concrete realities

I will continue on my existential path

I will not provide a respite from these horrible worries I have

That is what you do
For me

I am a writer in turmoil.

I will keep thrashing in this way until I die.

SOMETIMES I will snap out of my coma
And enjoy writing about the way it's just beautiful
Something else
Something descriptive and nice

I honestly feel bad for writing things like that song
'I can't do this anymore'

But no.

I have turned into myself
Like an incel--
And I hate you for not loving me the way i love myself

I hate you for it.

I hate you.

I hate you for that.

And from the center of her warm tumor
She calls out,
I know this is a lie!

A dull thud is heard in the distance by us all.

Is she going to keep doing that?

Yes, until the day she dies
With periods of profound silence.

And she never forgives herself
Or at intervals she does,
For all her incessant complaining
I tried really hard.

This is getting difficult
Like walking through curing concrete.

They find their way in,
Though you feel protected at times the shadow versions of umbrellas open up under your skin
And you feel them
The prolific good becomes the prolific horror
Maybe we
Just shouldn't be so prolific...

Ah, to hell with that.
I'll take what I can
And let's find out when.

AH! TO HELL WITH THAT!
I KNOW HOW THIS GOES AND I HATE IT!
SOMEONE-- WAIT NO ONE-- HELP ME!

And So this is how she lives her life
Always aware
Of what she is doing
And there is this thick awkwardness between us
We are not cool
We are fake when we want to be real
And all too real when we wanna be fake
And Jesse Lacey is always cooing in our ears
And they always crop up just like that and there's nothing you can do
And oh, you know what you are

You can't prove what you know
And yes even so
They will still continue to treat you that way

(And when you really go to think of it, shouldn't they?)